“I’ll bring a carriage so I can lock you inside and have you all to myself.”
“I must be mad to have consented to this,” she said.
“If you weren’t mad before, you will be after I’m finished with you. Don’t disappoint me, Libby.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
He turned to start out, and to Libby’s dismay, Fish was standing there, a stunned expression on her face. Libby never entertained gentlemen in her dressing room unless she was fully clothed and there was a chaperone lurking to prevent any untoward advances, so Luke’s presence was strange and wildly out of character.
“May I help you?” Fish asked him.
“No,” he cockily replied. “Libby has provided all the assistance I require for one evening.”
He nodded imperiously at Fish, winked at Libby, then strolled out.
She and Fish were frozen in their spots, listening as his footsteps faded down the hall.
“Who on earth was that?” Fish inquired when it was quiet again.
“I have no idea.”
“What’s his name?”
“Lucas. Luke.”
“Lucas what?”
“I have no idea about that either.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes—just a bit bewildered.”
“What did he want?” Fish asked.
“Nothing good.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”
“I’m riding with him tomorrow at two.”
Fish raised a brow. “Really?”
“He demands I wear red. It’s his favorite color.”
Fish snorted with what sounded like excitement or maybe glee. “I already know which gown it will have to be.”
“Who shall I tell her is calling?”
“Luke. I’d provide my surname, but she’s never learned what it is, so it won’t help to put me in her good graces.”
The footman who’d answered the door pulled it wide, and Luke entered the foyer of Libby’s small home. He glanced around, being incredibly curious as to what sort of abode would house such an odd creature.
He’d always heard that actors skated on the edge of poverty, that they hid from debt collectors and snuck out of town in the middle of the night to avoid paying their bills. Her prosperous condition obliterated that notion. Gad, she employed a footman! It was a peculiar fact that was completely unanticipated.
The dwelling was two stories high, constructed of red brick with white trim and black shutters. Flower boxes hung under the windows, and fragrant rose bushes hugged the walk. The property was located in the theater district, so her neighbors were artists, dancers, and musicians.
The front parlor was spacious and comfortable. There was scant evidence of female fussing and hobbies though. He saw no knitted shawls on the backs of the chairs, no embroidered doilies under the lamps. Then again, she wasn’t the type to sit by the fire with her knitting needles clicking.
He wasn’t certain what he was doing, but he felt halfway bewitched by her. Although he was a sailor, he wasn’t superstitious. He didn’t worry about spells or signs, didn’t believe a fellow could be ensnared by magic, but it seemed as if that was what had happened.
He was a rich, titled gentleman, a decorated navy hero, and beautiful women threw themselves at his feet. They always had, so in stumbling on her, it wasn’t as if he’d never trifled with a gorgeous woman before. Yet he’d seen her, and he’d had to have her. An impulse of jealous possession had taken root, and he couldn’t free himself from it.
These days, he was the most boring man in the world. After his deceased older brother, Bertie, had ruined the family’s reputation with vice and dissipation, Luke had made a pact with himself that he would never cause a scene or rock a boat. He was determined to prove that he was stable, solid, and dependable—and nothing like his dead wastrel brother.
He intended to settle down, marry appropriately and quickly to a wealthy debutante with perfect bloodlines, and live—if not happily ever after—then contentedly ever after.
So why was he in Libby Carstairs’s parlor? He had no idea.
“Miss Carstairs is preparing to go out,” the footman said.
“Yes, she’s planning to meet me at the theater, but I decided to pick her up instead.”
“Might you give me your last name anyway? Just so I can introduce you properly?”
“Tell her it’s Lucas Watson, Lord Barrett.”
The footman had to be new at his job. He blanched when he wasn’t supposed to ever display a reaction to any comment. Apparently, they weren’t expecting an aristocrat to arrive.
It was his own fault for being so furtive. He’d been too busy mooning over her to bother with the formalities, and he was humored to discover that she still didn’t know who he was. What would she think when his identity was revealed? He doubted she’d be impressed.
“Would you like a brandy, Lord Barrett?”
“I would love one.”
The footman gestured to the sofa. “Will you sit?”
“No. I’ll stand. I’m eager to snoop.” The poor boy’s brows rose to his hairline, and Luke asked, “How long has Miss Carstairs resided here?”
“I’m not sure, my lord, but it hasn’t been very long. I’ve only been working for her for two weeks myself.”
Luke’s brandy was poured and handed over, and he shooed the footman out to fetch her.
It hadn’t been difficult to find out where she was staying. He’d simply bribed an actor at the theater. If he’d had any sense, he would have met her there as arranged, but he’d been convinced she wouldn’t appear. If she hadn’t, he’d have been extremely annoyed, so he’d intervened to prevent any mischief on her part.
He’d been to the theater on dozens of occasions in his life, but he’d never encountered a performer who could mesmerize an audience like Libby. When they’d chatted on that dock bench, he’d wondered who she was and how he might cross paths with her in the future, but when she’d strolled out from behind the curtain to begin her monologue, he’d almost fainted with astonishment.
He’d been seated in a box with
